I don't think this is good enough to post but peer pressure and here we are.

This is set way before the show. It's set way before origins. As you read it will make more sense.

Also, I luckily don't deal with what Adrien has to deal with in this story. I just wrote it. If something is incorrect or offends you than I'm sorry.

Warnings: Anxiety, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Child Abuse

I had a school friend once, who had anxiety. She talked about it sometimes, just whispered words sputtered through shaky breaths. She talked about rocks in her stomach and buzzing in her ears. She talked about this heavy feeling in her stomach, her chest, her throat. She couldn't stand classmates she didn't trust watching her. Especially in gym class.

One day, we were playing baseball in gym, and the teacher said everyone had to participate or they would get in trouble. We stood in line, and then it was my friend's turn. So my friend walked up there, her trembling hands gripping the wooden bat so tightly that I was surprised it hadn't splintered. She looked over at the teacher, as if pleading for her to shake her head and tell her she didn't have to. The teacher just watched her, expression blank as always. My friend looked at me, blue eyes stuffed full of too many emotions. For a second she glanced away and lifted the bat ever so slightly. I thought, for a moment, she was actually going to do it.

Then she looked at me, and I saw the moment she broke. Saw the moment she shattered into an infinite number of pieces. The bat fell from her hands, made a clattering sound as it bounced loudly on the ground. A sob rose up in her chest, got caught somewhere up in her throat, escaped in a barely audible gasp. Tears filled her eyes, overflowed, flooded down her cheeks. I remember the snickers and poisonous words from the other students, mocking her for something about herself she couldn't change.

She ran away, out the door of the gym and into the hallway. I followed her. She walked over to the storage room that was mostly empty. No one ever went in there. I followed her inside. I watched as she leaned against the wall, her knees buckling like she couldn't hold up her weight anymore. She sat down on the ground, pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them tight, set her heavy head on her knees. I stood there, paralyzed, not sure what to do.

Her eyes met mine, filled with helplessness and desperation and terror.

I remember running up to her, throwing my arms around her. I held her tightly, as if afraid if I let go she would fall apart. She froze for a second, unsure, before wrapping her arms around me. Her embrace was tight, so tight it hurt, but I didn't mind. She was scrawny, too scrawny, I could feel her every rib stabbing me through her thin t-shirt. I let her bury her head in my shoulder. Her tears stained my shirt, but I couldn't mind less. Her shuddering breaths were tainted with mumbled words that I only kind of caught. "Worthless. Stupid. Weak."

I remember holding her against my chest, burying my head in her shoulder. My eyes stung with that all-too-familiar warning I was about to cry. Which was stupid, really, because I had no right to be upset. Not when my friend needed me. I said, "Those words don't describe you. Don't listen to anyone who says they do. You are important, smart, and brave."

She looked up at me, eyes wide and curious. Hopeful even. There was a smile on her face, betrayed by the sadness in her red-rimmed eyes. She said, "Thank you Adrien, you mean more to me than you will ever know. Thank you for being here for me, I think I know how to be okay. I think I'll be fine."

I thought that meant she believed my words.

I was wrong.

She died that night, stomach full of pills she either didn't need or needed too much. Suicide.

After I heard the news, I was never the same. I guess I just realized something. Life is like fire, it can be burning bright and strong and then flicker out in seconds. I realized then, how easy it has been for her to pretend she was fine. It hadn't been easy at first, of course, with the tears in her eyes. But then she had smiled at me, and the smile really did look genuine. She had looked at me, and her eyes really did look bright. She said she'd be fine, and I didn't hear any hint of a lie laced in her voice.

Her death made me look back at my own life. My friends consisted of Chloe, a girl who only hung around me because she thought I was attractive and rich. A guy named Barry, who was only around me because his dad was rich and my dad was rich and that gave us something in common. A guy named Caspar, who was virtually just one of my friends because I knew Barry. My only real friend had been that school friend with anxiety. And she was dead now, gone. I wouldn't ever see her eyes sparkle or her pale lips pull up into that genuine smile I hardly ever got the chance to see. She was gone. Forever.

My only family was my dad. If he even counted. He was hardly ever home, any time he was he was distant. Closed off. My dad was rich, viewed as important. He had always taken his job seriously. But not recently. Now he spent more time at the bar then at work. Had ever since mom had died. And the only other person in my life was Natalie, and she was only here because my dad paid her to be here. A thought came out of nowhere, echoing in my skull.

If I died today, would anyone miss me?

I shook my head violently, as if it would actually clear the question from my head. I knew the answer, somewhere in my back of my mind. Locked away. I tried not to think about it. It was best not to think about. After all, there was no reason to think like that. After all, I was happy. Really, I was.

Right?

The more I thought about it, the more I doubted it. I smiled sometimes, but it was more because I was supposed to, than because I really felt like it. I laughed sometimes, but it was kind of hollow, just there to prove a point. I had a nice life though, I should be happy. I had money. No one was ever exactly mean to me. I was never bored, always busy with something. Like piano, Chinese, modeling, fencing. I even figured I enjoyed doing those activities. Except for modeling, but it wasn't like I actually hated it. I was kind of indifferent towards modeling.

I mean, sure, I didn't really get much freedom. Always having to do what people told me. And that was horrible, sometimes. Sometimes I felt like a caged animal, like I was only there for other people to judge. Sometimes the pressure was too much, I always had to be perfect. One slip up and my family's reputation could be ruined. And sometimes I had such a busy schedule that I was exhausted and didn't feel like doing anything, Sometimes I wanted to face-plant into my pillow and not do one of the billion things I was supposed to do.

And, sure, my busy schedule didn't leave much time for hanging out with friends. And sure, my 'recommended' diet didn't leave much good food in my stomach. And sure, I was constantly missing my dad. But I hadn't really ever had him there, so it was nothing new. Just something I had to teach myself to get used to. But I wasn't really sad. I hadn't ever had anything to really be upset about, at least, not before today. I had always just felt kind of numb, in an out of it sort of way. Not upset, but not exactly happy either.

Content.

That was the right word. I liked that word. It was neutral. It showed I wasn't really happy, and I wasn't really sad. Just somewhere in between. The word content was up there with fine. Fine was neutral to. It showed I wasn't upset, but I wasn't exactly okay either.

I used those words more often than I should.

I used them so often, I didn't even hesitate in believing they were true. After all they had been true. At first. I had been content. Fine. Neutral. Then I started this downward spiral. It reminded me of drowning. One moment you're just swimming, splashing in the waves. Then you're underneath the water, and your lungs are burning, and your panicking. You're kicking your feet and gasping for oxygen that's not there. After a while though, your mind just accepts defeat. Your body gives up, your thoughts fizzle out, your limbs get all heavy. And you're sinking deeper and deeper and deeper.

Somewhere along this downward spiral, I just stopped caring. About school. About Chinese, and fencing, and modeling, and piano. And life in general. One day I just didn't get out of bed in the morning, mumbled some excuse about being sick to Natalie. I didn't go to school that day, and I didn't go to the photoshoot I had afterwards. Then, one day turned into two. And then three. I skipped several days of school, a photo shoot, a couple Chinese lessons, Piano Practice, Fencing practice. In those three days, I only got out of bed when I absolutely had to. I couldn't seem to convince myself to down the food Natalie brought me. For three days I just allowed myself to do absolutely nothing. My dad was surely annoyed with me, my false friends probably wondering what the hell was going on.

But I couldn't care less.

To bad it wouldn't last. The fourth day I forced myself to go to school, But my heart wasn't really in it. I replied to Barry's words, but I wasn't really sure what I was saying. I was too busy concentrating on that little bird feather drifting from the sky. It was small, and grey, and skinny. I paid more attention to it than any of my classes. Chloe approached me, and asked how I was doing. I was surprised to find what appeared to be genuine concern shimmering in her usually guarded eyes. I figured I must be imagining it. I replied that I was fine.

This time, I was even less sure it was right.

I went through the rest of the day on autopilot. Luckily I didn't have a photo shoot, but I still had piano practice and a Chinese lesson. I didn't speak much, just kind of stared into space and stumbled around. My stomach was kind of hurting. I still hadn't eaten. I needed to eat.

I internally shrugged.

After everything was over, and I could go home, Hunger was clawing up my stomach. I went into the kitchen. I found a box of croissants. They didn't look as appetizing as they usually do. I pulled a croissant out of the box. I took a bite. My stomach churned, twisted. I managed to finish the croissant. It felt heavy sitting in my stomach. I should eat another one. I had barely eaten anything in four days. I managed to gulp another croissant down. My stomach felt like it was full of rocks. I had never had a problem eating before, but ever since my friend died, I just didn't seem to be able to enjoy eating.

I walked out of the kitchen, straight to my room. I sat down on my bed and pulled the blankets up over my head. It felt like I was hiding from reality, and that should hurt my pride, but I didn't mind. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ignore the sharp feel of my ribs through my shirt. I had always been skinny, but this was ridiculous. I could feel every rib stabbing me. I needed to eat more. Keep up appearances.

But... Why?

No one really cares about me. All they cared about was that I smiled for the camera and didn't waste all the family money. Why did it matter that I ate food, and went to school, and went to the billion practices my dad wanted me to? It didn't matter. Not one bit.

The next few days passed by in a bit of a blur. I only ate when it was necessary. I only went to school when I thought I could deal with it. I didn't go to any photo shoots or any lessens or any practices. My grades dropped. My reputation dropped to, as rumors spread throughout the school on why I was hardly ever there. I spent most of the day curled up under my blankets. Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought I could just escape from reality.

I heard the door to my room slam open. I looked up, finding the familiar patchwork pattern of my blankets blocking my sight. I sighed deeply. Buried my head in my pillow. I couldn't bring myself to care about whatever was going on. Then the blanket above my head was roughly torn off my bed, and thrown across the room. I looked up to see my dad standing there. My eyebrows creased in confusion. It had been months since I last saw him, and now here he was.

His voice was loud, rough, it hurt my ears, "I heard you haven't been going to school. Or any practices. Your grades are dropping. And your reputation. Do you know what people are saying about you, about me. I gave you everything and this is how you repay me? This is how you repay your mother? You think she wanted you to act like this."

He grabbed my arms. Tight. I yelped as his fingers dug into my flesh, nails digging in deep enough to draw blood. He drug me out of bed, threw me on the ground. I was surprised by how strong he was. I was laying on the ground, where he had thrown me. He looked drunk. Really drunk. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice was slurred. A glass beer bottle was clutched in one of his shaky hands. "Get up! Get up and fight me like a man!"

I didn't see the point in fighting, he would obviously win. But I figured I should probably do what he says. I started to stand, and got about halfway there before he swung the beer bottle into the side of my face. It hit my jaw with such force I was surprised my jaw didn't shatter into a million pieces. And though my jaw didn't break, the glass definitely did. The glass shattered on impact, digging into my skin and littering the ground around me.

"You're so weak! You can't even protect yourself. If you dare get anyone to help you, I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you! You understand?"

I nodded. At least I think it was a nod, the world around me was spinning in all directions and it was kinda confusing. I tried to stay balanced in my half-standing position, not wanting to fall into the scattered glass. Then he kicked me in the side. A sickening crack. All the breath getting torn out of my lungs. I fell limply back to the ground. It hurt to breathe.

"That's it! If you hate going to school that much, you will never go again. I'll pay someone to teach you! And you will return to going to modeling. And every other damn thing, okay?"

I heard his words, and knew I should reply, but my breath was trapped in my chest. I couldn't seem to drag it through my throat, my vocal cords, my mouth. The world was blurring around me, from pain or lack of air. I couldn't be sure which. I kind of bobbed my head up and down, hoping he would take it as a nod. He left the room.

For a few moments I didn't move, just kind of soaked in what had just happened. Or at least tried. It was like my brain had just given out, shoved a brick wall through my thoughts and given up. I couldn't seem to come to terms with what had just happened, after all how could something like that actually happen?

It had to have been some sick nightmare. Some twisted horrid thing my mind came up with to punish me for being so incompetent. The pain did feel real, way too real, but then again, pain in dreams feels just as real as reality. Then again, there were so many horrifying details that even I doubted my mind was sick enough to come up with. The unnatural wheezes of my breath, the sharp little tremors jolting in my hands. The scattered dark pieces of glass, glinting colors in the dim light. The dark, dark, scarlet liquid of blood, so thick that it looked blacker than night. It seemed all too real. But, then again. It's not like that could have really just happened. So, I didn't move. Just waited to wake up.

Time stretched by, in some indescribable measurement. I didn't wake up. I doubted I ever would. I closed my eyes. Tried to steel my emotions like they say is possible. Apparently that was a load of shit, because my emotions still stretched in every direction. I thought of words I should be feeling, terror, horror, shock. A million feelings in between. None of those feelings really summed up the way I felt though. Not exactly. I could only find one word that summed up how I felt.

Unstable.

I shook my head, tried to clear my thoughts of clouds and cobwebs. I tried to focus. I needed to focus. I tried to stand, and got about halfway there, before I slid on the puddle of blood on the floor and crumbled to the ground. Why was there so much blood? I tried to pull myself to my feet. I felt unbalanced. I dragged myself to my feet anyway. I straightened into a standing position. Leaned heavily against the wall. I stumbled into my bathroom. I flipped closed the lock. Leaned heavily against the closed door. And paused, for a moment. Just tried to catch my fleeting breath. Then I stumbled over, leaned against the sink. I knew a mirror hung above the sink.

I didn't want to look in the mirror.

I didn't want to see myself. Didn't know if I could handle looking at myself, shattered into a million pieces. Broken. Twisted. I took a heavy breath, tried to shove my emotions as far away from the logical part of my brain as possible. It didn't really work. My hands were still trembling when I looked up. My green eyes looked the same as always, but at the same time they almost didn't. They weren't duller or darker or anything like that, not like I'd almost expected. They were different in some indescribable way. They looked haunted, sad, somehow deeper and less shimmery. Maybe I was imagining it.

Or maybe I wasn't.

My blonde hair was slightly longer than I was used to, and it was disgustingly grimy and messy. My face was pale, unnaturally pale. I had always been skinny, but now I way surpassed scrawny. My cheekbones were sharp, my cheeks hollow, my eyes sunken into my skull. Cuts and bruises littered my skin. I shivered at the glass still embedded in my face, neck, chest. My eyes started to sting, and I tried to suppress the urge to cry. Crying was utterly pointless. It wouldn't fix anything. My body didn't seem to care, tears flooded down my face. My chest expanded, air filling it up before releasing it in a broken gasp. Then I was sobbing, loud and ugly. Every time my ribcage shuddered, sending waves of pain. The pain was overwhelming, taking away every sense. My mind went in pained circles, and no matter how hard I tried to steady my breaths I just kept crying.

My world greyed out, faded.

I woke up on the bathroom floor.

I didn't know how long it had been. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Either way, there was blood on the floor. I really needed to stop whatever was bleeding. I was starting to get cold, and I wasn't a doctor, but I knew that definitely was not a good sign. I decided I needed to fix my wounds. Or whatever. I should probably open my eyes first. But eh. My body felt heavy, my eyelids weighed down. I didn't think I had the strength to stand, much less see where all that blood was coming from.

I forced my eyes open, hating how difficult it was. I blinked blood out of my eyelashes. I raised a hand off the ground, it felt like lifting a bus. My arm fell back to the ground. I let out a heavy breath, my head swimming, thoughts filtering in and out of my head before I could register what exactly they were. I lifted my head, feeling hazy and clouded. It took what felt like forever before I could even attempt to sit up. I sat up, whimpered pathetically when my ribcage protested. I forced myself to stand on shaky legs. Caught myself on the edge of the sink when my knees buckled.

I looked back at the mirror. Blood covered most of the left side of my face, it stained my golden hair a sickening red. That hadn't been there before. I raised a hand to the back of the head. The hand came back covered in blood. My stomach twisted, churned. I swallowed back acid. I looked around, saw that a corner of the sink was covered in blood. I must have hit my head when I fell.

I looked in the mirror. My face was covered in blood. My shirt was stuck to me with blood and sweat. I turned on the sink and washed my hands. Then I took a washcloth and got it wet. I gently rubbed it across my face, wincing when it shoved the glass deeper into my skin and reopened the cuts. Once my face was kind of clean, I got out tweezers. I started pulling glass out of my face. I put the glass in the trash. I felt like I was running on adrenaline and shock, the pain felt dull and distant. I felt weak, but an unnatural strength flooded through my veins. It didn't make much sense, but I didn't much care, I was just glad it was there. After I took all the glass out of my face, I just held the washcloth against my face until all the cuts stopped bleeding.

I then carefully pulled off my shirt. I dug in a heavy breath once I saw the damage. There were small cuts littered across my chest, but that wasn't what I was worried about. There was also a sickening mix of blues and blacks and yellows and greens across the right side of my ribs. That was much more worrying, but not nearly as worrying as this. There was a huge piece of glass stuck in my side. Had to be at least half the beer bottle. Blood leaked from the edges. That had to be where the blood was coming from. I pulled out a clean washcloth. I took in a heavy breath. I really didn't want to pull the glass out. I didn't really want to bleed out today.

I couldn't just walk around with a piece of glass sticking out of my side either. I considered getting help for a moment, but from who? My dad did this to me, and Natalie wasn't here. And my phone had died days ago, and even if it hadn't been I still wouldn't have anyone to call. And my father was right, I should be able to help myself. So instead I just took another heavy breath, and pulled the glass out. To be fair, it was only about an inch deep. You would have thought it was all the way through my chest by the amount of blood gushing out. I shoved the cloth against the wound desperately trying to stop the blood flow. It did absolutely nothing. Soon the white cloth was red-black. I tried to steady my hands enough to tie the cloth around me, but gave up when my hands wouldn't comply. Instead I just held the cloth to the wound. I felt lightheaded, dizzy, unbalanced.

I sunk to the floor. I lay down on the floor. Trembling hands pressed up right against the wound even though it hurt. I just laid there, half dazed and weak. The world was spinning, even though I wasn't moving at all. I closed my eyes. I don't know how much time passed. I think the blood had stopped.

Maybe I was wrong.

I suddenly heard a knock on the door to my room. A soft knock, but a demanding one. Then I heard the sound of the door swinging open and the familiar false-sweet tone of Chloe. "Adrien?"

I closed my eyes. This was not good. I didn't want her to see how weak I was. But I needed help. I hated to admit it. But I needed Chloe's help. I raised my voice as high as I could, but no sound came out. Desperation grabbed me as she said my name again. I tried to speak. No sound came out. My heart constricted in my chest. Panic made my heart flutter. Then I heard her gasp, and her voice got higher and panicky and concerned. "Oh my god! Adrian! Adrian! Where are you?"

She must have seen the blood and broken glass. After all, it was splattered all over my bedroom floor. I mustered all the strength I could get, and slammed my foot against the door. It was a weak kick that made a barely audible sound. She must have heard it though, because she started tugging at the door. I remembered locking it. Why did I lock it again? I let my head fall limply against my shoulder. I was shivering. It felt like ice was flowing through my veins.

A moment later Chloe was leaning over me, concern etched on every line on her face. Why was she concerned? There didn't seem to be anything to worry about. I didn't feel bad, just kind of out of it. As she spoke her words merged together, but I somehow managed to separate them in my mind. "Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. Fucking hell. Oh my god."

She pulled out her phone and touched the screen a few times. My eyes fluttered closed. I couldn't seem to bring myself to care about what she was doing. She was speaking into the phone. Something about needing an ambulance and a desperate come quick.

Then she was speaking to me. I wasn't sure what the words were, but the voice was comforting. She told me to open my eyes or she was going to murder me. It wasn't her words that made my eyes flutter open, but the raw emotion laced in her voice. Usually she was so emotionless, so stoic. So great at hiding her emotions and faking her emotions that it was easy to forget she had any real emotions at all. But now all her emotions were visible, a huge overwhelming rush of emotions that seemed to leave her just as unstable as me. Her voice was shaking, her hands were shaking, her small form was shaking. "Dammit, Adrien, I can't lose you too."

Her long blonde hair was down, flooding past her shoulders, the edges brushing against my shoulder. I looked up at her, tried to reassure her I would be fine with my eyes. She didn't seem to be that comforted. Sirens sounded from outside. I panicked for a moment, arms flailing and legs kicking. I couldn't remember why, but this was bad. I was supposed to deal with this by myself.

"Calm down, Adrien." Chloe's words did nothing to calm me. My heart was clashing roughly in my chest, my arms flailing wildly. Chloe caught one of my arms, and the grip was tight, but gentle. The arm stopped halfway in front of my face. I was shocked at the blue tint of my fingertips. And by how much both of us were shaking. Chloe's pleading voice sent shivers down my spine. "Please, Adrien."

I stilled my movements. Fell limp. Stared up into her deep blue eyes. The usually emotionless dark-sky hue was full of so much concern. So much despair. And for a moment, I wondered if she was just as mentally shattered as me. I wondered why. I wondered how I hadn't noticed before. I spent how much time with Chloe and couldn't even tell she was this broken. My self-worth plummeted down even more.

It was like I was seeing another side of Chloe, one she never showed anyone. A weak, vulnerable side that proved she was just as human as everyone else. It shocked me. Really, it did. I guess I had just thought she was cold and heartless. My brain back-tracked. Went back to all the times I had seen her be mean to someone. If she really did care about me, how could she be so mean to everyone else?

I didn't have time to ponder the question, because there was the sound of a door slamming open that made me flinch more than I'd like to admit. And then doctors entering the room. Chloe was standing up, leaving room for a pale, female, doctor with long dusty brown hair shoved up into a messy bun.

I hadn't realized how tired I was, until that moment.

I guess much too tired to remember falling asleep.

This is probably a one-shot but who knows. I love reviews. Just thought I'd tell you.